


ive got fire in my soul

by elainebarrish



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24713368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elainebarrish/pseuds/elainebarrish
Summary: judy's flirtatious by nature, judy just jokes around with her, it's all something other than inevitable. they're all something other than obvious, something other than unavoidable, something other than in love.
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 21
Kudos: 206





	ive got fire in my soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyscully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyscully/gifts).



> ok so i disappeared bc i had like 7.5k for uni due over like a week. and then this took FOREVER bc they just wouldn't do it like i think maybe jen + judy hate me idk
> 
> ALSO another big shout out to kate who is an actual icon whomst will always pull through for me and read like the first 2.5k or something and told me it wasn't bad and tried really hard to give me direction which i was sort of thinking about and then i kind of ignored. we were kind of going for like 5 times judy flirts with jen and jen tells her to shut up or like 5 times jen tries to tell judy she loves her without saying it. but anyway kate is a hero 10/10
> 
> EDIT: I also just wanna say if yall wanna send me prompts to skyirons.tumblr.com please do bc I'm a stupid himbo who can't think of plots by myself

Jen isn't paying attention, isn't ready for it, isn't ready for Judy to suddenly be there, all up in her space, all smiling at her and something like a wink, something like knowing. It's this thing that they do, where both of them reach out and then pretend like it isn't anything, pretend like they don't mean it. This thing that means they're so close to acting out, so close to doing something that they can't step back from, but they never succumb, not quite. They act like it's all friendly, like owning a house and co-parenting is friendly, like Judy flirting while she cooks their family dinner is  _ friendly _ , and it's all some sort of insane.

It's insane like half-baked stories for Charlie and sudden recoveries from car accidents, insane like the last entire fucking year has been, and they somehow keep going, keep getting through it. It's all just dust in the rear view mirror, somehow, and they buy another car and that distracts Charlie from whatever meltdown he could have had about that letter that said too much, because he's really a very materialistic sixteen year old boy at heart, and so long as he's winning he's not really paying attention to much else, and that means they're winning too. 

And their version of winning somehow means something like flirting, something like getting closer without them knowing it, something like Judy's vague come-ons and Jen's laughter, something like Jen managing to cut back on her wine intake. She doesn't have to be drunk, now, to be alive, or not so much, anyway, because there's really something to be said about being intoxicated by another person, something to be said for replacing one high with another. The whole thing they've got going on is extremely co-dependent and incredibly fucked up, but it's theirs and Jen doesn't question it, not much, not most of the time. But sometimes Judy slides into bed next to her (and they got a new one, split the cost right down the middle, because Jen's been being good at her job, again, now she's not in the middle of a breakdown constantly) and she thinks that this must be it, must be exactly what she's wanted all of this time.

"Jeeeeennnn-" Judy starts and she's cutting her off before she can continue, ending that drawn out ask before it can transform into anything, because she'll give her anything she wants, really. 

"No." 

"You don't even know what I was gonna ask!" and she's pouting and it's so cute and Jen wants to fucking brain  _ herself _ this time. 

"I don't need to fucking know, I can already fucking tell I'm not gonna like it," but she's smiling, looking at her laptop like it'll save her from having fucking bambi in bed next to her. 

"It's just a tiny thing," Judy says, and Jen knows that's probably true, but she loves to be contrary, loves to make Judy ask. 

"Tiny enough to make you put that fucking voice on."

"You love it really," and it's somehow confident, teasing and flirty, all at once, and really, Jen thinks, is in bed the best context for that, for Judy flirting like it's nothing. 

"You can't put your fucking whale music on, or smoke a fucking joint inside, or any other fucking thing that you wanna suggest is part of your nighttime ritual, because I've seen you sleep just fine without." 

Judy's laughing as she shoves at her a little, making her sway as she's hunched over her laptop. "You know half this bedroom is mine I can do whatever I want, but it wasn't gonna be either of those." 

"Oh, you're getting cocky now you've got money, huh?" and it comes out fond and warm where Jen meant for it to be some kind of cutting, because she doesn't really know how to do that, with her, anymore. Because even if Judy didn't end up pregnant they're still, truly, wholly, a team. 

"You try kicking me out of bed now, Harding, I'm not going anywhere," and she glances over because honestly she wasn't concentrating on her fucking email anymore anyway, and Judy slips her a wink like she wasn't even thinking about it, and Jen rolls her eyes because it seems like the natural thing to do, seems like what she  _ should _ do. 

"I could take you," Jen says, and shrugs, and Judy looks shocked like she's going to argue, but she just glosses over it. "So what fucking was it, what do you want?" 

"Do you think you could maybe stop staring at your email and lie down because it's midnight and we both have work tomorrow?" and she says it fast, because she still doesn't really like asking for things, and Jen laughs.

"You didn't need the tone for that, babe," she replies, easy and natural as breathing, and she shuts her laptop and slides it under the bed, flicks her bedside light out and takes her glasses off. 

"That easy? Guess you'll do anything I ask these days." 

"I'm glad the lights are off so I couldn't fucking see if you fucking winked at me again." 

"It's important to me that you know that I absolutely did," Judy laughs and Jen laughs, a little, more of a huff like she's annoyed or disappointed. "Just wanted you to get rid of the laptop so you could spend your allotted half an hour rolling over 72 times." 

"If it's that fucking annoying go sleep in your own fucking bed," but there's no bite, never really is, especially over this, especially when she knows that in the next half hour she'll settle into something like an embrace, something where Judy's legs end up all wrapped around hers. 

"I'm already in it," Judy volunteers instead of engaging, instead of doing that thing that Jen likes to do sometimes where she pretends like this isn't a permanent thing. "Besides how would I stay until you're all the way asleep if I was all the way out there?" 

"I'd fucking phone you and then you wouldn't complain about my kicking, or whatever the fuck." 

"Aw, it'd be like the old days," and her tone is so warm like Jen didn't just indulge in glossing over this thing that they have, this thing that no one's admitted to but they both know about.

"Aren't you just so blessed to not have me fucking crying every fucking night now?" Jen curls into her like she's some kind of angry, her affection coming with something like attitude, shoving her face into Judy's neck like she's angry that she wants to, and Judy just soothes a hand across her back and let's her fidget. 

"I gotta say happy is a hot look on you," she replies, and dances her fingers up Jen's spine, and Jen gives her something like a spluttering, stuttering laugh. 

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Only the ones I make happy," and there's warmth in her tone but there's something dangerous, too, something that Jen doesn't know if she's ready to admit to. 

"Money really  _ has _ made you fucking confident." 

"Mmm, you're just saying that because you know it's true," and Jen knows by just her voice that her eyes are closed and she's smiling, halfway to sleep already, because for her it's always been staying asleep that is the problem. Jen doesn't warrant that with a response, concentrates on lazy circles drawn on her back instead, thinks about the warmth of Judy's hand, thinks kind of absently about it burrowing under her tshirt, about how much she'd like that. She kind of wiggles closer, something about the dark and the warmth, the heavy cocoon of the duvet making her feel safe, her eyes closed, breath heavy against Judy's neck, something hanging between them like potential, something that crackles a little. 

Judy's a restless sleeper but Jen's settling back into sleeping through it, back into being used to another person moving when she's asleep, and most of the time Judy reaching for her doesn't wake her. Sometimes she wakes to an acute feeling of something being wrong, 3am blazing on the nightstand and Judy facing away from her, and those times she reaches out, smoothes her hand down Judy's spine, waits a moment to get in close. She's usually awake, those times, and it makes Jen wonder how much of the night she actually spends lying awake, how long she lies there until she reaches between them to close the gulf that's created in the dark, sometimes. She tucks her nose against the back of her neck and pulls her in, and Judy let's out a breath like she'd been holding it the whole time she'd been awake. Jen has nightmares too, so she knows, to some extent, what it's like, knows that Judy needs to know that she's there, that she has her, and Jen always does. 

They never say anything, at 3am, but sometimes when Jen's just woken up and Judy's already sitting up, wearing some stupid silk camisole situation that Jen thought people only actually slept in on TV, she says a thank you, quiet, almost like she doesn't want her to hear. She always looks so vulnerable, in the 7am sunlight, something about the light seeming cold as it spills across her bare shoulders, and Jen always rubs her thigh, or her arm, whatever she can reach without moving too far, and squints at her because it's too fucking early for much else. Sometimes she murmurs something like "I got you," or something along those lines, sometimes it's something closer to "I love you," but they all mean the same thing, really, anyway. . 

Some mornings they both wake up with the alarm, and those are Jen’s favourites, the ones where Judy actually indulges in staying in bed for a little longer, because she might be a morning person but no one can say no to Jen when she grabs her arm before she can roll out of bed. No one can say no to Jen’s grabbing, say no to the way that she reaches out before she even knows she’s doing it. It feels different, somehow, some mornings, the ones where Jen grabs her phone, turns the alarm off and pulls it off of the charger, rolls over holding it and arranges herself as close to Judy as she can be. Sometimes this is followed by her propping her phone up on Judy with one hand and trying to check her notifications, but mostly it's just Jen curled up and trying to go back to sleep, knowing she shouldn't, warm and with sunlight trying to creep around the blinds, her eyes closed even though she knows that Judy is smiling at her. 

Those mornings it all feels like some kind of perfect, some kind of too good to be true. All sunlight and Judy and their domestic ass life. This life that they are somehow getting to have even though they shouldn't, even though they've both done unspeakable things, a life they get even if it comes with nightmares and something like an undercurrent of the knowledge that everything seems safe but could still get blown up. None of that seems to matter when she reaches out and Judy let's herself be pulled, nothing else matters when she watches Judy make breakfast for their kids and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

Jen doesn't like being grabbed, but she's always reaching out, always searching for physical intimacy even as she spurns it, sometimes, when Judy offers it. It seems like a control thing, maybe, or like Jen likes to provide, like maybe she knows it's what Judy likes, or like there's a part of herself that she hasn't acknowledged that needs her close but consciously she doesn't know that yet. Judy's still trying to work her out, in some ways, but in most ways it's like she knows her better than she knows herself, knows exactly what Jen wants and what she needs even when Jen herself doesn't know. 

\------

She's all warm, wine drunk and lazy, her bent knees resting on Jen's thighs and her head on her shoulder, her whole body curled into her with her glass pulled in close, so close to her that Jen almost knocks her when she takes a sip from her own cup. Jen laughs and mumbles something like a sorry, but her arm tightens around her like she's worried that she's going to move, even though Judy thinks she'd need to crowbar her off of her at this point. Jen likes them like this, likes Judy curled into her on the sofa, likes the way that sometimes when Judy gets tired or a little drunk or both she settles into her like she can never get close enough. 

She thinks about saying something, thinks about admitting how much she likes her close, but she thinks instead she'd probably say something like "you're so fucking clingy, Judy," and Judy would laugh and mumble something about how much Jen loves that about her. And she does, she loves fucking everything about her, like some kind of sappy lesbian or something, and she doesn't even know what they're doing or what she's doing, but everytime they sit like this it feels like they're sliding into something that kind of makes her panic but also makes her feel safe and warm and wanted. Because Judy's good at that, making her feel wanted, does it just by the way that she looks at her, sometimes, just with something like a warm look in her eye, and Jen can't place it but she craves it.

"I'm gonna fall asleep," Judy murmurs, a couple of ad breaks later, and Jen smiles, runs her fingers through her hair. 

"Let's get you to bed, babe," but Judy shakes her head, mumbles something Jen doesn't catch but sounds like a "noooooo". 

"Come on, the faster you brush your teeth the faster you can be asleep." 

"Does that argument work on Henry?" and it's still mumbled but it's audible, like she's waking up enough to get upstairs and actually complete her bedtime routine. 

"Absolutely fucking not," Jen laughs and Judy does too, a little, and when Jen pushes her lightly she swings her legs onto the floor, rubs her face and yawns, and Jen switches the TV off. She puts their glasses in the kitchen while Judy tries to convince herself to stand, and eventually Jen comes back and offers her a hand up when it looks like she's not going to manage it by herself. 

Judy sways up and into her, and goes right back to resting her head on Jen's shoulder, so they end up in something like a hug, and it should be annoying, because Jen wants to go to bed too, but somehow because it's Judy it's just this ridiculous form of cute. 

"You know we could be doing this horizontally if you shift your lazy fucking ass." 

"We could be doing a lot of things horizontally," and there's a smile in her voice, and she doesn't look up. 

"You just fucking winked, didn't you?" Jen groans, and Judy laughs, bright and louder than she was expecting. 

"I didn't even have to, your mind went there all by itself," Judy teases, and Jen flushes, violently, and is glad that she's still not looking at her, her head still on her shoulder. 

"You definitely need to be in bed, come on," she says, instead of engaging, and Judy peels away when Jen pokes her in the side. 

"No need to rush me, I'll put out when I'm ready," she says, but it's absent-minded and she leads the way out of the room, not seeming to notice the part of Jen that kind of twitches in response. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Judy, just shut up," she says, as she flicks the lights off behind them, and Judy just laughs, trudging up the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister like she needs the support to remain upright. 

\------

Jen throws her handbag onto the kitchen island with the kind of force that Judy  _ knows _ means something happened at work, and that's just confirmed when she stands there for a second, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

"Go put your pyjamas on, I'll pour the wine," Judy says, before Jen even says anything, and she looks at her with eyes full of relief and something relaxing around her mouth, around her shoulders. 

"You're an angel," she says, and Judy grins as she walks away, kicking her boots off as she goes, and when she comes back down she's wearing some horrible sweatpants and her glasses, and she goes straight for the wine waiting for her on the counter. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" 

"Wanna drink about it more," she mutters, but after a pause she launches into a long drawn out complaint about some stupid fucking young successful couple who wanted to buy a house, and had just generally irritated her. "They were just acting like them giving me work was such a fucking  _ blessing  _ or something, like them buying that fucking house was them doing me a favour? I  _ hate _ superior fucking rich kids so fucking much." She finishes her wine and pushes the glass back to Judy, who refills it with a smile. 

"Might wanna slow down there," she says, but she pushes it back anyway. "When did you last eat?" 

"You know I fucking hate it when you do that, Judes," she practically whines, and Judy shrugs, like she's saying well someone's gotta look after you. "What is for dinner, though?" 

"I was honestly thinking we could get take out," and Jen grins, reaching for her phone. 

"It's like you read my mind." 

"We're very in sync, aren't we?" and her nose does that cute little scrunchy thing and Jen fakes a vomit noise. 

"Ewwww gross," she says, but then she beckons her closer so they can look at delivery options on Jen's phone, Judy resting her hand on her shoulder, playing with her hair, and Jen leans into her like she can't help it. And this is more relaxing than the wine is, resting her head on Judy's shoulder and letting her play with her hair, pretending like she really cares what they eat when she mostly cares that they get something Judy likes. Which is hard when Judy's so used to capitulating to a stronger personality but Jen's working on bringing it out of her, working on making sure Judy knows that she has more choices than she knows what to do with, here with her. And it turns out, after a little pushing, that Judy wants Thai, so they order Thai on Jen's credit card that she has successfully paid off since things have been going well again, since Jen is managing to sell houses now that she's not screaming and crying half of the time. Judy says something about paying her back and Jen tells her to shut up, and Judy just laughs, head thrown back, and Jen knows that in a week she'll find 40 dollars crumpled into her handbag, and won't know where it came from, won't remember this well enough to realise. 

The two of them sit outside, and wait for their food to arrive, and Judy falls into her when she pulls her close, let's her wrap an arm around her and sigh, let out the angry breath she feels like she's been holding in all day. Judy talks about her residents, the nice ones, because she doesn't tell Jen about when they're a bit mean because they really don't intend to be, and she doesn't want Jen storming into her work ready to beat up an octogenarian because she thinks she would, sometimes. What happened to Steve wasn't because of Judy, really, but sometimes when he gets a vague mention she sees that dark cloud of anger flash across Jen's face and she thinks that maybe, if she knew all of it, all of the things that Steve had done, she would probably resurrect him just to kill him again. 

They let Charlie eat in his room, because they know when to pick their battles, and it's not worth making him drag himself away from his laptop for an hour, not when he'll just be some kind of sullen and probably mean to Henry, and sometimes he's this horrible teenage form of scathing with Judy, too. Jen thinks he's learning it from the girls he's been hanging out with, the ones he doesn't really know if he likes, but Judy never holds it against him. If he wants to act like eating dinner with them is a huge imposition then Jen will remove the problem, leave it as a fight they can have on Thanksgiving instead. 

Henry, their perfect angel, entertains them through dinner by talking about his last couple of Holy Harmonies practises, and Judy, the second perfect angel at the dinner table, laughs in all of the right places and doesn't mention that Jen's still not even finished her second glass of wine. She asks the engaging questions that Jen never quite got a handle on, makes him feel listened to in a way she could never quite manage, and that leaves her looking at her in a way that she's sure would be disgusting if she could see it on her own face. For now, she's just thankful that there's no mirror present, and that Judy has really good taste in Thai food. 

"You okay? You kinda spaced out there for a bit," Judy asks as she's putting the containers in the recycling, Jen collecting the leftovers in a tupperware like she's a real adjusted person, like she won't end up eating them while stood in the light of the fridge before she goes to sleep. 

"Oh, yeah, I was just thinking," she shrugs. 

"Don't strain that pretty head of yours," Judy says, in some kind of attempt at an impression of every man they've both ever spoken to, and Jen laughs. 

"You're literally so fucking weird," and she accompanies it with a shove with her shoulder, and Judy laughs as she pretend staggers back. 

"You love that about me." 

"You literally say that about everything, even when I'm pointing it out negatively." 

"Yeah because I'm your  _ person _ ," she says, undaunted, and Jen rolls her eyes. 

"That doesn't mean you're not fucking annoying." 

"But it  _ does _ mean you continue to like me," she points out, and she's grinning like she's raising a very good point which, okay, she's right, but she could be less smug about it, or something. 

"Okay, reel it in, babe," she says, ignores the way that Judy looks at her like she knows that she's right, ignores that it's obvious to the both of them. 

\------

They go to bed, sometime after Jen has stood in front of the fridge with the leftovers, and she knows Judy has a special place in her heart just because she comes over with a fork and she makes space for her, holds the tupperware between them instead of guarding it jealously. Maybe it's worth it because Judy grins like she knows she's chosen, like she knows she's the only person who could get away with it. They fight with their forks, a little, for the last bite, but they end up splitting it without even talking about it, because that's weirdly unnecessary in the dark kitchen, their faces lit up by the light from the fridge. It's all some strange kind of intimate, grinning at each other in the frosty glow, heads bowed together over the remains of dinner. Jen throws the tub in the sink, their forks clatter in after it, and Judy follows her upstairs. They get ready for bed and Jen pulls her in close, resting her cold nose against the back of her neck, and she thinks about how this evening would have gone without Judy, thinks about the rage that would have carried her all the way to bed, about how impossible sleep would have seemed. Sleep is still hard, because that's not going away anytime soon, but it's easier to feel rested when she actually manages to fucking relax, easier when she can get into bed and have already had an evening where she didn't feel like she was drowning. And that's all Judy, all her tangling their fingers together, pulling Jen's arm even tighter around her. 

"Night Jen. I love you," she says, because she says it every night, now, and Jen smiles against her neck. 

"Night Judes, I love you too." 

\------

"How was work?" Jen asks, because she's been at home, working on her laptop instead of at the office, so she's the one that's home first, for once, and she ignores the way her heart skips a beat when Judy breezes in. 

"Yeah it was good, there's this new resident, Anna," she starts, and she's about to really get going on how good she is with colour when Henry comes barrelling down the stairs to tell Judy about his creative writing project. Judy has, somehow, become the one both of the kids go to with most things to do with school, and Jen worries, a little, that maybe it shows that she really wasn't doing a very good job with trying to pick up with where Ted left off with them, but also she knows it makes a lot of sense. Judy is all endless patience and huge smiles and she has something good to say even when Charlie admits he got a D on his English paper, while Jen had just been mostly angry because she knows he's better than that, wishes that he would believe that about himself. She's coming to realise, though, that she doesn't need to try and be everything to the boys, anymore, because they all have Judy. They have her and she's here to stay, so she can support Henry through art therapy, or whatever it is that they do that Jen believes is actually just called making a mess, and she can give Charlie the quiet support that he maybe needs. 

Judy can do that, can come home from work and have something good to say about everyone, has something good to say about her residents and her colleagues and even that one guy who throws paint at her, sometimes. She always concentrates on the good, and Jen respects that mostly because she so hugely does not understand it, because she can’t do it herself. She lets the two of them chatter and pours Henry an orange juice, slides it over with a glass of wine for Judy, and the answering smile is of the kind that she thinks might be seared into her memory. She thinks she’d do anything to get Judy to look at her like that for the rest of her life, and right now maybe that’s their plan, and that is the best thought that Jen’s ever had. She knows her face does something weird because Judy softens as she looks at her, eye contact held for too long, like they always do, Jen’s face saying something that she’s not ready to actually verbalise, just yet.

“What’s up?” Judy asks, much later, when Henry’s in bed and Charlie should be, but they both know he’s probably on Snapchat or something fucking stupid.

“Hmm? Oh nothing,” Jen says, but Judy catches the smile, the way that Jen looks content like Judy never really thought she’d ever get to see. It’s really something, the way that Jen softens, with her, the way that she lets her see her like she knows that no one but the kids get to, and they don’t really know what it means. Charlie’s only really started to see Jen as an actual human being recently, and Henry still won’t, not for a few years. They don’t know how hard it is for Jen to be something like open, don’t know that she shows her love in ways that Judy guesses are completely different to how Ted showed them. 

“You just seem to have a lot on your mind,” Judy says, diplomatically, instead of asking if she’s happy like she wants to.

“There’s a lot to think about,” Jen says, and Judy just kind of shoots her a look, which doesn’t really work because she tries to do it without really moving her head from Jen’s shoulder, not wanting to dislodge the hand in her hair. She sighs, but her hand doesn’t stop moving, twirling Judy’s hair around her finger, looking at what she’s doing instead of the TV. “I’ve just been thinking… Christ, it’s so fucking gross, but I’ve been thinking about how lucky I am. Well, we are, to have you with us, like the boys love you so much, and you really,” she pauses, takes a deep breath, because she hates talking about her feelings but she’ll do it for Judy, do what she never would for anyone else. “You really fit here,” she settles on, like that says any of the things that she wants to, but Judy gets it, because Judy always does. 

She sits up, so she can look at her, and Jen kind of wants to hide her face, kind of doesn’t want eye contact, for this, for all of these feelings, had felt safer in the half dark without Judy being able to see her, had felt safer when her head had been hidden on her shoulder. “I love being here,” she says, easily, honestly, because earnestness comes to her like it can never come to Jen. “I love you,” and Jen  _ knows _ but it’s nice to hear it, anyway, and she smiles a little like she can’t help it. “You’ve really just been sitting there thinking about how great I am, huh?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” she says, but it’s perfect, like Judy knows exactly how much Jen can take, like she knows exactly when to take the tension out of the situation, and she grabs her hands like that’s her way of telling Jen how much it means to her.

“No, go on, I wanna hear all of the ways in which I’m just the best,” and she’s laughing as she says it, grinning in that goofy way that means she knows she’s being dumb, that she’s doing it on purpose to get Jen to laugh.

“I’m never fucking saying anything nice again,” and Judy just laughs.

“You’re really not gonna tell me? Not anything?” 

“You really want a fucking list?” Jen says, all dumb indignation, and Judy just nods, sitting up straight like she’s about to get her report card or some shit. “Judes, you’re literally the most fucking ridiculous person I’ve ever fucking met.”

“That’s not on the list,” she says, and she pouts, and Jen just rolls her eyes.

“That’s the entire fucking list, babe,” and it’s like the matter is closed, like it’s over, and Judy goes back to leaning on her shoulder, and she tucks her hand back under her hair, cupping her neck, and Judy sighs into it, a little, breath warm on Jen’s chest.

\-----

“Babe, I grabbed the stuff for that thing you wanted to make on my way home,” Jen yells as she carries a bunch of bags into the kitchen, and Judy pops up from somewhere and scares the shit out of her. “Oh fuck, Judy,” and she clutches her chest while Judy laughs, practically bent over even though it’s really not that funny.

“You’re always  _ so _ easy to scare! I wasn’t even trying this time.” 

“You’ve been trying the fucking other times?”

Judy shrugs. “I mean, sometimes,” and she starts to put everything away, gasping occasionally at things she finds that she didn’t ask for but that Jen picked up because she knows she likes them. “Ooh, wine,” she says, reading the label like she cares, and Jen laughs.

“A woman after my own heart.”

“Oh you noticed I was after that, huh?” and she winks and Jen rolls her eyes.

“Stop flirting and get pouring,” she says, and that feels like some kind of acknowledgment, because neither of them have ever said aloud that that’s what Judy’s doing, neither of them have ever actually faced up to it, just left it as some unstated fact of their interactions, left it like they were both pretending that Jen didn’t notice.

“Yes ma’am,” Judy says, instead of asking if she actually wants her to stop, because if there’s one thing she thinks she knows it’s that that’s the opposite of what Jen wants. Regardless of how Jen feels about her she knows that she likes it, knows that she likes to feel wanted, whether she actually thinks Judy really wants her or not. These days, though, she thinks she does, thinks that Judy wants whatever they’re approaching just as much as she does. She slides her over a glass of wine, and resumes unpacking the groceries, sipping hers with something like a noise of approval, because it tastes like wine, and that’s all Judy ever really asks for. 

“I didn’t realise how much shit I’d bought,” Jen says, watching instead of helping, taking a seat at the island, and Judy laughs.

“You know we went grocery shopping like literally three days ago, right?”

“Yeah but you wanted that thing for the fucking - the thing.” 

Judy grins. “You’re gonna love it, trust me.” 

“I sure better, going to fucking Whole Foods by myself.”

“Aw, you saying it’s more fun when I go with you?” 

“Who else am I supposed to aim all of my bitching at?”

“I can’t believe I make you like going to Whole Foods,” Judy says, and she’s looking at her in that way that’s kind of adoring, like Jen’s the sun, or something, and that seems wrong when Judy is the beginning and end of the universe, when Judy is sunlight itself.

“I never said I fucking liked it,” Jen says, instead of saying that she adores her, instead of saying that she’d go anywhere with her, for her.

“Well thank you, for going to Whole Foods for me,” Judy says, sweet as can be, and Jen rolls her eyes again.

“You’re fucking welcome,” she mutters and she drinks her wine and she ignores Judy grinning at her.

“It’s good, right?” Judy asks enthusiastically later, and it’s basically cherry pie but there’s just something about it that makes it somehow  _ better _ , and even if Jen asked she knows she doesn’t know enough about baking to really understand it.

“So fucking good,” and it’s probably gross, the way she’s shovelling it into her face, but it is just really fucking good, and Judy’s watching her with something like delight written across her eyes, and she thinks she’d pretend to love it even if it sucked if she could make her look that happy.

“Worth the trip to Whole Foods?”

“God, yes,” and she pauses to look at her, actually finishes her mouthful, about to ask her if she’s just gonna keep on staring at her while she eats like a weirdo when Judy reaches out. She reaches out and wipes a little cherry filling from the corner of Jen’s mouth, and Jen knows she’s not imagining the way that her thumb lingers on her bottom lip, knows that Judy doesn’t miss the way that her lips part, looking up from Jen’s mouth to meet her eyes, a moment that lasts a million years. She draws back, and she puts her thumb in her own mouth, licks the filling off, and she watches Jen’s eyes follow her thumb, watches her gaze linger on her lips, her eyes flicking up to Judy’s again and she doesn’t look caught, just looks at her with something hot and wanting, and Judy’s mouth twists into something smug, something that says that she likes Jen’s attention. 

It feels like something snaps, when Jen lunges forwards and kisses her, too hard and clumsy and tasting like pie, and Judy lets out something like an “oof” because despite the inevitability of the moment she’s still surprised, surprised by the way that Jen half falls off her stool and into her, surprised by the strength of her when she grabs her waist.

“God, I should work on recipe improvements for your favourites more often,” she says, like she’s not panting and flushed and some kind of thrown, like she’s not melting under the warmth of Jen pressed against her.

“Jesus Christ Judy, shut the fuck up,” she practically snaps, but she’s out of breath, and Judy curbs her laughter so she can kiss her, pull her somehow closer.


End file.
